


Come Hell or High Water

by cosmicallybrownie



Category: Satan and Me (Webcomic)
Genre: F/M, blood mention, violence mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 12:23:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7315093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicallybrownie/pseuds/cosmicallybrownie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Ipos took care of Sheila, and the one time she took care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Hell or High Water

The smell of blood and adrenaline filled the air. The cries of the soldiers clashed and mixed together on the battlefield, tainting the atmosphere with fear. Sheila and Ipos fought side by side, unwilling to lose each other. The battle drug on, long and hard under Uriel’s command; the soldiers struck the enemy as quick as only angel wings could muster.   
  
Under the unyielding attack, the pair was separated. Panic settled deep in Ipos’ chest when Sheila was out of his sight.   
  
Suddenly a loud metallic clang sounded on the battlefield, and Uriel shrieked, throwing his head back. Sheila, looking over to her commanding officer, was met by the glaring light of God. Bright, so bright. She collapsed to the ground; her world was gone.   
  
Amongst all the chaos, Ipos found her. Tears of blood streaked down Sheila’s face as she rubbed and clawed at her eyes. Frantically working, he searched for a way to stop the bleeding.   
  
Torn between shock and hysterics, Sheila desperately grasped at Ipos. Her mouth hung open in silent sobs as she hung on to anything she could identify him by. Her hands worked over his soft robe, the cropped hair on the sides of his head, and his piercings on his lower lip. Even when she couldn’t see, he was still her constant, steady and unchanging.   
  
He carried her, bloodied and blinded, off the battlefield, determined not to break down. He swore an oath of loyalty to her that day, promising to care for her always.   
  
***  
  
The pair trudged slowly out of the medic tents. Matching frowns marred both of the angels’ faces. Ipos clutched Sheila tight to his chest, willing her pain away.  
  
Ipos had walked Sheila to Raphael, begging the archangel to heal her, and give her sight back. A somber expression worried Raphael’s face as he looked at Sheila and listened to Ipos. With a heavy sigh, the archangel had to be the bearer of terrible news. Uriel’s blinding light was irreversible.   
  
With the same earnestness that was always present in his speech, Raphael told the pair, “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do."   
  
Holding Sheila until her tears ceased and she slept, Ipos felt anger blossom in his stomach.   
  
Angrily, he shouted his prayers. "Heal her, damn it! Father, you know she was fighting for you! Why won’t you heal her?"   
  
He shouted until he was sure even the humans could hear. This wasn’t how their lives were supposed to go. They were supposed to be perfect compliments. Her level head and his fiery passion melded into one, and on the battlefield they were unstoppable.   
  
Watching her sleep, his hot anger cooled into steely hate. Brushing her hair out of her face, he felt the ache of empathy clawing through his throat.   
  
The pair slept side by side that night, stewing over the knowledge that Raphael was unable to help, and God was unwilling.   
  
***  
  
Sheila scoured Heaven and the far corners of the earth searching for a way to heal herself. She swore it was temporary, begging Raphael and God to heal her. She bargained with them, promising them impossible things in exchange for her sight.   
  
Eventually, she stopped begging and searching and stormed around angrily. Alternating between bouts of fury and anguish, Sheila refused to talk to anyone. Despite being turned away multiple times (and hit with a thrown shoe on one occasion) Ipos always came back. He lingered around her, keeping tabs on her. He owed her that much.   
  
Crying out, Sheila collapsed under the weight of her grief. "Father! Don’t you care? Would you even care if I fell?"   
  
Ipos found Sheila, on her knees and crying. Squatting down with her, he pulled her into his arms. Sheila didn’t fight his gentle hold, content to sob into his chest.   
  
Between uneven breaths, Sheila blurted out, "I’m going to fall.”  
  
Ipos heart stuttered in his chest at her bold statement. Fall? She couldn’t be serious.   
  
Before he could reply, she continued, “I can’t serve a father who doesn’t care that one of his children got hurt."   
  
In an attempt to hide his pressing fear, he jested, "I can hardly keep up with you in Heaven, and how do you expect me to take care of you in Hell?”  
  
Sheila’s mouth was drawn in a short line when she replied, "No, you cannot come. I won’t do this to you."   
  
Reaching out to touch his face, she caught his lip piercing with her finger, cutting it.  
  
Jerking away from him, she held her cut finger in her hand. Tears threatened to streak down her face again. Ipos captured her hands in his and looked down at her. She was so small and afraid. No, he would fall with her. He had sworn loyalty to her, and he would take care of her, come Hell or high water.

***

Falling was horrifying, but not even that could match the terror of shopping for modern day clothes. And the damned humans and their petty modesty made everything harder than it needed to be. The woman in the J C Penney acted like she was scandalized just by informing Ipos that this was a “women only” dressing room. Did she expect a blind woman to dress herself? How foolish.

Ipos brushed aside the woman like a rotten leaf and swept into the dressing room just in time to stop Sheila from running into a door.

Sitting in the pathetic chair the dressing room offered, Ipos placed one garment after another into Sheila’s hands, allowing her to try them on. The yellowed fluorescent lights flickered above her, and the dressing room mirror had a crack that ran from the middle of Sheila’s face down to her elbow, but none of that mattered to her.

Ipos commanded Sheila, like she was any other woman. His little “turn around’s” and “put your right arm in first’s” made their little excursion feel normal. Well, as normal as it could feel for two demons shopping. He didn’t treat her like she was any different, and while she appreciated it, she wondered why he did it.

“Turn around.” Ipos’ sudden command broke her chain of thoughts, and the fallen angel turned obediently to face him. “Your buttons are off.”

Sheila let him guide her forward. Swallowing hard, she kept her head up as his hands worked at the front of her shirt. She heard the light popping sounds of the buttons being undone and redone and tried to focus on the sound rather than his warm hands.

“There.” He dropped his hands, but neither of them made any move to step out of the close proximity.

Ipos stayed frozen in his seat, but tilted his head up to look at her face. Gratitude was etched into her brow, and he nodded his head, knowing she couldn’t see it.

Taking a deep breath, he stood and let humor creep into his tone, “Where would you be without me?”

“Lost.”

The sincerity in her voice shocked Ipos, even though he knew it was true. He shifted forward towards her, and Sheila didn’t step back. Not a sound could be heard, and in the yellowed light of the dressing room Sheila smiled at him. Her first smile since she was struck blind was for him.

“Come on,” Ipos bumped his shoulder to hers as he turned, “take that off. Yellow is not your color.”

Undoing the buttons, she tossed the rejected shirt at him, “Can’t say I like the color too much either.”

***

“Sheila, grab that glass for me.”

“Sheila, hand me that rag.”

“Sheila, go tell Pax to shut the hell up, I can hear his mouth from out here.”

“Sheila, come here.”

To others, Ipos’ orders and tasks would seem bossy and rude, but they meant the world to Sheila. By giving her things to do, he gave her purpose. He never wanted her to feel useless or pitied, so he treated her like anyone else. And if he ever saw her run into a table or a doorframe while running an errand, he never said anything.

His voice boomed from across the bar, “Sheila, run up to my room and grab me another pack of cigarettes.”

Merely nodding, she made her way over to the steps, carefully avoiding where she knew tables were. A gentle smile settled on Ipos’ face when her hip caught the hand rail, and she straightened, playing it off as nothing.

He felt bad for ordering her around, but he didn’t want to coddle her. She deserved to be treated like any other fallen. So what if he keeps her closer that the rest?

Finding his room seamlessly, Sheila rifled through a drawer that smelled sharply of Ipos, cigarettes, and bleach before she felt a small box. Shaking it, and hearing the satisfying sound of cigarettes shaking next to each other, she shut the drawer. Lingering a bit longer than necessary, a small smile worked its way onto her face.

Making the slow journey back down the hall and into the bar, Sheila fidgeted with the box in her hands. Small fear always lingered in the back of her mind when she came back to Ipos after completing a task. A little voice was always ready to whisper, ‘you messed up.’

Handing the cigarettes to Ipos, she felt the corner of her mouth turn up when he said, “Now say, ‘you’re welcome’, Ipos.’”

Keeping the amusement out of her voice, she dryly asked, “Why should I be thanking you?”

“Because you’d just be so lonely and sad without me,” the smile was evident in his tone.

“Oh, Ipos,” she lamented, “I don’t need you. I’d be just fine.”

Sheila turned as Ipos merely hummed in response. He would never know just how thankful she truly was for him.

***

They fell together which practically makes them family. He just wished he didn’t have to pick up and drag her to a different town every time he moved on.

He could never leave her though. It was a silent accord they made: she followed him wherever he went, and he took care of her. He was Satan’s ears and Sheila’s eyes, and he played the roles well.

Looking over the resting place he had created, he felt a strange sense of pride. This was a den where the fallen could gather without fear. While it didn’t offer the same sense of comfort a real family would, Sheila stood in the gap. She was his constant, unchanging and steady. He relied on her just as heavily as she relied on him. Sheila never got bored with him; she never felt the need to move on and leave him.

That evening, after a fight morphed into the beginnings of a riot on the streets, the police began to ask questions. When the police began to ask questions, it was time to move.

Knocking gently on her door, Ipos waited for Sheila to answer. A few seconds passed, and the door opened. Sheila waved Ipos in, and he sank into her bed, groaning. She kept up her business, readying herself for bed. Finally, once her makeup was wiped off and her hair was pulled up, she sat next to him.

Not hesitating, she launched, “Talk.”

Sighing heavily, he sat up, “It’s time for me to move on.”

“Just you?” She shifted closer to him.

“Sheila…” he began, “I’m not forcing you. I hate moving you all over, if you want to stay-”

Gently cutting him off by guiding his head into her lap, she stroked his hair and spoke, “Ipos, I’m not leaving you. Anywhere you go, I’ll go with you.”

He let her continue her ministrations and lowered his voice, “I just want you to be comfortable and happy.”

He was so quiet that Sheila almost didn’t hear him. Almost. She nodded and whispered back, “I’m coming with you.”

Her hands working against his scalp said everything she couldn’t. He fell asleep on her lap, placing all of his trust with the person he’d fallen with. Ipos awoke with her hands in his hair, and a smile on his face. He was glad it was Sheila, and at the end of the day, he’d pick her all over again, blind and fallen.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> This fic and all others can be found on my tumblr account under my writing tag  
> cosmicallybrownie.tumblr.com/tagged/hot-off-the-presses


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